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Christmas Kvergreens 


BY 

ROSE PORTER. 

AUTHOR OF ‘^SUMMER DRIFTWOOD;’^ THE YEARS THAT ARE TOLD^’* 

EIC.^ ETC. 


‘‘ The happy Christmas comes once more, 
The heavenly guest is at the door ; 

The blessed words the shepherds thrill, 
The joyous tidings — Peace, good-will ! 

“ O wake our hearts, in gladness sing! 
And keep our Christmas with our King, 
T ill living song, from loving souls, 

Like sound of mighty waters rolls.” 


ANSON D. 


F. 


NEW YORK: 
RANDOLPH 


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No. 

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Of WASA 





& COMPANY, 


900 BROADWAY, COR. 20th STREET. 


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Copyright, 1876, by 

ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & COMPANY. 



ROBERT RUTTER, 
BINDER, 

64 6EEKMAN STREET. N. Y. 


EDWARD 0. JENKINS, 
PRINTER AND STEREOTYPER, 
20 NORTH WILLIAM ST., N. Y. 



Three of these sketches are reprinted fro 7 n the New 
York Observer, two fro77t the Illustrated Chris- 
tian Weekly, and one fro7n the Advance. 


3 


4 



“ Christian religion beginneth not at the highest, 

AS OTHER RELIGIONS DO, BUT AT THE LOWEST. . . . RUN 

STRAIGHT TO THE MANGER, AND EMBRACE THIS INFANT, THE 

Virgin’s little babe, in thine arms ; and behold Him as 
He was BORN, nursed, grew up, was CONVERSANT AMONGST 
MEN ; TEACHING, DYING, RISING AGAIN, ASCENDING UP ABOVE 
ALL THE HEAVENS, AND HAVING POWER OVER ALL THINGS. 

“ This sight and contemplation will keep thee in the 

RIGHT WAY, THAT THOU MAYEST FOLLOW WHITHER ChRIST 
HATH GONE.” — Luthcr, 



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“ Again at Christmas did we weave 

The holly round the Christmas hearth, 

The silent snow possessed the earth, 

And calmly fell our Christmas-eve.” 

O you ever think, as you hold in your hand the 



Cedar-wound emblems with which we adorn 
our homes at this festive season, of the deep signifi- 
cance hidden in the choice of the “ cedar-green ” 
for our Christmas-tide decorations ? 

Think of it, green is the color which symbolizes 
hope. — “ And Noah sent forth a dove to see if the 
waters were abated from off the face of the ground, 
and the dove came in to him in the evening, and in 
her mouth was an olive leaf plucked off.” — The 
color of the spring which typifies new birth, the 
color that in Christian art is ofltimes used to repre- 
sent regeneration. 

It was green, too, the ancients chose to signify 
love and constancy in their selection of the emerald 
as the “ stone of love.” Thus, as green is the beau- 
tiful undertone that, like tenderest note of music, 


7 


CHRISTMAS EVERGREENS. 

thrills in every vibration of nature, so it typifies the 
love, hope, regeneration which thrills in every heart, 
that hearkens at this Christmas season to the Christ- 
mas song that rings out in glad accord, as men and 
angels chant — “ Glory to God.” — Does not that glory 
hold hope ? — “ On earth peace ” — is not that peace, 
love } — “ Good-will to men ” — is not this good-will, 
the amen to regeneration 

Surely, if all this is signified by the color of the 
branches kissed by sun and shower, wooed by wind 
and calm into green of deepest dye, the Cedar of 
which we twine our emblems, must have for us, too, 
far-reaching meanings ; the Cedar, so fragrant in its 
spicy odor, so incorruptible in its fibre, so glorious 
for its height ; the precious Cedar, so treasured for its 
healing virtues in the broad land of the East ; the 
tree so exalted in Scripture narration. 

These are but hints we give you of the all that is 
meant by the choice of the Cedar evergreens for our 
Christmas festival. 

Not thoughtlessly, then, but with sacred awe and 
tenderness, let us bind the green twigs into emblem 
forms — remembering the Cross, though it be but 
a cross of Cedar, typifies the grand central Light of 
8 



CHRISTMAS EVERGREENS. 

our Christian trust ; remembering, as we twine the 
wreath, the circle is the type of eternity ; as we form 
the triangle, that it symbolizes the Holy Three in 
One; remembering, too, as we bind the anchor, that 
it whispers of Hope, that hope of the soul, that never 
with so much of realness as on Christmas day “ en- 
ters within the veil.” 

And, thinking thus, let us forget the beauty of 
design in the deeper beauty of the symbol, till our 
heart-thoughts are uplifted from earth’s Christmas 
evergreens, to that unfading “ rainbow round about 
the throne,” where reigns Bethlehem’s babe— the 
bow of hope, “ in sight like unto an emerald.” 








I. 

<c TJ^VERY child under the May-tree of winter 
may celebrate his tabernacle feast of hope.” 
It was a dreary December day when Mary Deane first 
read these words of the poet Richter — a day when a 
^‘May-tree,” a “tabernacle feast of hope,” seemed 
all out of place, for at early morning the sleet had 
begun to patter against the window-panes, the wind 
to moan through the trees — and the storm was not 
over when the hands of the little clock on the man- 
tel pointed to four. 

There were other reasons, too, why the words 
seemed not for Mary Deane. Since the last Decem- 
ber, the dear Heavenly Father had sent into her 
life a great sorrow, and the once flowery meadows 
of hope were shrouded for her, in a mantle of snow 
— cold, white snow. 

^ Sadly she laid the book down, sighing wearily, for 
something in the poet’s words wakened in her heart 
the mystical bells of memory, till they rang out 
strange, tender notes, bringing back in their sweet- 

13 



Cffl^ISTMAS EVERGREENS. 


ness, most musical, most solemn,” thoughts that 
had long been silent, — thoughts that wooed for the 
dry, leafless branch Mary called her “Christmas 
bough,” a tiny sprig of true Christmas evergreen ; so 
tiny, at first, it seemed forsooth, like those little 
scraggy “one-groschen sprigs,” that nestle in and 
are almost hidden amid the forest firs, piled in such 
profusion in the squares of Germany’s cities, as “ the 
time draws near the birth of Christ.” The little 
“one-groschen trees,” ah! if we could follow them, 
think you not their story would be as sweet, as ten- 
der a story, as any their stately companions could 
tel] just as the comforts that come to us through 
little things oftentimes are the richest, and fullest of 
heart blossoms. The one-gro:chen trees ! — the little 
sprigs that are fragrant with self-sacrifice— with fa- 
ther and mother love, that lead to homes, — such 
homes, some of poverty, some— Would you change 
them for the great firs, that are to shimmer and 
rustle with shivering gold-leaf, and flashing light, in 
the homes of the wealthy .? 

But we must not linger. 

Mary Deane never guessed her Christmas ever- 
green had commenced to bud, while she sat there 


14 


A GJ?OSCJ/EN SPRIG. 


feeling so lonely, while in a voice pleading as a cry, 
she called : 

“ Let only one flower bloom again, dear Lord, 
one flower,” and once more she repeated the words, 
Every child under the May-tree of winter may 
celebrate his tabernacle feast of hope.” 

“ They are not for me,” she murmured. “ ‘ Child 
— No ! I am not a child. ‘ May-tree No May-tree 
will bud for me. ‘Winter;’ that word alone is 
mine, dreary winter, heart winter. — The ‘ tabernacle 
feast;’ perhaps in the other land; I may know it 
again, but not here. Hope, the azure-winged angel^ 
it flew away one summer day, and in its stead came 
the violet-robed one, whom men call the angel of 
‘ patient waiting ’ — waiting — what for } ” 

And then, with one of those sudden impulses that 
afterwards we recognize as the prompting of the 
unseen, but ever near Friend, again she repeated the 
words, “ Every child.” That child-word ; it fell on 
her ear like balm of tender healing, and softly she 
whispered, “ He called a little child unto Him, and 
said. Except ye become as little children, ye can not 
enter the kingdom of heaven ” — can not know on 
earth the tabernacle feast of hope ! 


CHRIS TMA S E VERGREENS. 

Reaching across the table, she took up her Bible 
and read the verses over and over. No hint they 
gave as to what kind of a child it was Jesus called; 
just the simple lesson they taught of child-likeness y 
the lesson of a heart full of humility, obedience, love, 
and truth, as the true child-heart is. 

‘‘ Become as little children ” — Mary lingered long 
over the comfort-word, “ become, which leaves much 
time for patience,” much time for learning “ that our 
Heavenly Father trains His children to be small, as 
we do ours to be great, for the growth of the internal 
man is a continual grov/ing downward, to humility 
and simplicity.” 

Thinking thus, she was silent for many minutes. 
When again she spoke, the sigh in her voice had 
given place to a smile. “ ‘ Every child ’—the words, 
they do belong to me, for however weary I am from 
sorrow and from sin, however sadly I may listen on 
this Christmas eve to memory’s bells, still I may 
call, and never too softly can I call for Him to hear. 

“ ‘ M)' refuge and my rest, 

As child on mother’s breast, 

I lean on Thee.’ ” 

i6 



A CROSCHEN. SPRIG. 

Meanwhile the little green bud in the Christmas 
bough had unfolded into a leaf. 

“ May-tree of winter,” next she said, but with 
the words came the recollection of a visit she had 
promised to pay ; to one “ who needs me^'^ she told 
the faithful servant, who remonstrated, when, half 
an hour later, she came down-stairs equipped for a 
walk, despite the storm. 

Needs me"' Just while saying those two brief 
words, Mary found a “May-tree of winter,” for, to 
the heart, what so like a May-tree of sweet blossoms 
as the knowledge, “ There is some one who needs 
me ! ” 

The broad avenue was crowded ; driving sleet 
and blowing wind could not keep house-bound the 
Christmas-gift buyers who were hurrying to and fro. 
But Mary soon turned off from the busy thorough- 
fare into a long, narrow street — one of those streets 
where one sees so mournfully much of poverty, sin, 
and suffering. 

In this miserable place a mission chapel had been 
erected, and for years. Sabbath after Sabbath, she 
had been wont to meet with the class of ragged boys 
who called her “ our teacher.” 

17 



CHRISTMAS EVERGREENS, 


Such a humble, unpretending building was the 
chapel ; had it by some magical touch been lifted 
from its present surroundings, and placed in the 
other part of the town, scarce one of the many passers 
would have noticed it ; but down there, they called 
it “ The light of the neighborhood,” and children 
pointed toward it, rubbing their little hands, blue 
and cold with the biting frost, while they said, “ It’s 
allers hot in there.” 

There were sad-faced, tired women, too, who as 
they passed the chapel, drew their thin shawls closer 
about them as they whispered, “ When work is over 
we will go there again, and get some more comfort,” 
— and the comfort was hearing of Jesus. 

There were men, also, strong, hard-working men, 
who spoke of the chapel with softened voices and 
tear-dimmed eyes, saying, “ It was there we first heard 
of Him, Christ who loves us, and bids us come to 
Him.” Come to Him — ^such a wonderful invitation 
that, to poor, outcast, tired men and women ! 

Mary had visited much in the vicinity, and she 
felt no fear, though her errand led to an upper room 
in a rambling tenement-house. 

Twice she knocked before the door opened, for 

i8 


A GROSCHEN SPRIG. 

that day, in that dreary place, there had been one 
before her. One who knocked so loudly, the weep- 
ing woman, the rough man crouching over the dying 
embers of the smoldering fire, had forgotten to listen 
for the coming of earthly visitors. 

It was not a long story they had to tell. Mary 
knew it all in a glance — knew it even before the 
woman had taken the hand she outstretched in 
sympathy, and led her to the quiet corner where 
the baby lay, sleeping — that quiet sleep— only a 
three-year-old baby, a golden-haired, a blue-eyed 
baby. “ But, we know who’s took her, Mrs. Deane,” 
said the weeping mother— and then the room was 
still. 

The streets were dark when Mary turned home- 
ward, yet it did not seem dark to her. She tarried 
for a moment as she passed the chapel to look in 
through the open door at the busy group, twining 

Christmas greens.” She longed to go in and tell 
them how one evergreen had been garnered that day 
in a home only a stone’s throw off ; how a flower of 
faith had bloomed in an humble woman’s heart, be- 
cause of truths she had learned at the chapel. 

But the city car would not wait, and it was late, 



CHRIS TMA S E VERGREENS. 

SO she hastened to find a seat in the already crowded 
conveyance. Every passenger was laden with Christ- 
mas packages; one little girl, excited with expec- 
tancy for the morrow, looked wonderingly at Mary’s 
empty hands, asking with a child’s fearlessness : 

“ Ain’t you got no Christmas presents to carry 
home } ” 

And the child laughed so gleefully as she looked 
down at her own and her father’s parcels, she hardly 
heeded the low-toned reply. 

‘‘ Yes, I have a gift ! ’ . 

“We know who’'s took herj Mrs. Deane” — were 
these simple words of that poor woman — these child- 
like words of trust, Mary Deane’s Christmas gift.? 
Certain it is, as she repeated them and laid them 
close beside the sorrow God had sent to her, the 
“ tabernacle feast of hope ” entered with them into 
her heart. 

That night the buds and blossoms on Mary’s 
Christmas sprig were full and open ; she wondered 
why ever she had called it dry and leafless ! 

When the morning came the cold wind had ceased 
to blow, the chilling sleet to fall. Into Mary’s room 
broad bands of sunlight shone. It seemed to hei as 



A GROSCHEN SPRIG. 

though she had been listening to strains of sweet 
music — music murmuring of hope — perhaps she 
had. 

“ Some say that ever against the season comes, 

Wherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrate, 

The bird of dawning, singeth all night long.” 

“ Why not rise and go,” she said, “ and keep the 
tabernacle feast of hope this Christmas day.? Why 
not go and learn of Him who will lift me out of self, 
and the selfish longing for the something He has 
taken ; the something which I had, but which is 
gone, and I must do without.” And she went. 
There were gifts for Mary Deane that Christmas; 
gifts beautiful and costly, but none so dear as the 
heart blossoms of peace; the blossom of submission, 
where had been rebellion; of trust, where had been 
doubt. “ My groschen sprig,” she called it ; “ My 
evergreen sprig, so small no eye but mine can see it, 
no heart but mine will know how it buds and blos- 
soms, while I keep it in the sunlight of His pres- 
ence ; ” and that light it fell so warmly, so tenderly 
on Mary, that when the New Year eve came, though 
she sat alone in her desolated home, she yet could 
sing, with a smile on her face : 



CHRIS TM A S E VER GREENS. 


Lord Jesus, let me learn of Thee 
My lesson this New Year, 

Teach me each word, though some may be 
Spelt through with many a tear. 

“ So shall my song of Thee be sweet, 
Telling of victory won, 

That I hav^e learned at Jesus’ feet, 

God’s will, not mine, be done.” 



22 




II. 

«N0 ROOM IN THE INN.” 





f 


II. 

“ So, to grant a pardon free, 

Comes a willing Lamb from heaven ; 

Hasten we. 

One and all, to be forgiven.'’ 

a Christmas eve, long ago, there were sounds 
of joy and music in the city. At midnight they 
rang the Christmas bells, and at sunrise the notes of 
the children’s glad Christmas carol floated on the still 
air, like the song of spring-time birds, so soft and 
sweet were their tones, as they sung : 

“ Once o’er the fields of Bethlehem, 

Rang out a glor}^ song ; 

The hills that heard it sung to them. 

Re-echo it along ; 

That wondrous sound, that psalm of praise, 

Good tidings ever blest. 

Forevermore the echoes raise, 

0 Chrisius natus est ! ” 

Thus it dawned, the glad Christmas, and wonder- 
ful gifts it brought to thousands of dwellers in the 

25 



CHRISTMAS EVERGREEN'S. 

great city, but the most wonderful of all was to 
Hiram Venn ! 

Hiram Venn, whose lot in life was hard, not from 
the pressure of poverty — for wealth had surrounded 
him from infancy — but because, with scarce an effort 
to stay their inward march, he had admitted into his 
heart evil thoughts, and they had sown broadcast 
there their seeds of distrust, envy, and malice ; and 
surely such seed-sowing must make any man’s lot 
hard. 

But, as never yet was there a winter without days 
of sunshine and cheer, so there never yet was a life 
that did not know some hours lit up by the glimmer- 
iiig of better things ; and these glints of light, they had 
fallen across Hiram’s pathway more than once. 
Even when a child, he had hearkened to the beauti- 
ful story, of that long-ago night, when first in the 
Eastern horizon had shone the star of the Christ- 
child. And again, in his youth, Hiram had listened 
to the story of that love without compare, and as he 
had listened then, almost he had resolved to walk in 
the pathway guarded by that heaven-born Star, which 
ever to the eye of faith, goes before the trusting soul 
“a cloud by day, a pillar of fire by night.” But 

26 



J?OOM IN THE INNr 

Hiram’s youth-time resolve had been only an “ almost 
thou persuadest me,” and like as an uncertain oars- 
man, glides out and beyond the pathway of light that 
bridges a broad expanse of water, so Hiram had glided 
out from the star-lit way ; for, like the moonbeam’s 
path on the rippling water, it is a narrow, narrow way. 

Hiram tarried out late on the Christmas eve night. 
He was a lonely old man, for though ready to do his 
slightest bidding, servants moved to and fro in his 
stately residence (it was not a home that great house 
where Hiram Venn lived), there was no smile of love, 
no word of welcome to greet his return. As he 
passed up and down the crowded thoroughfares, now 
and then he paused to look in the gaily-lighted shop- 
windows, to watch the happy gift-seekers, and the 
eager salesmen. He lingered, too, at the street 
corners, to gaz&on the great piles of Christmas trees 
and evergreens that grew less and less as one pur- 
chaser after another turned homeward ; some carry- 
ing no more than a sprig of the dear green, others 
bending beneath their load of fragrant cedar and 
hemlock boughs. And walking as he did, amid the 
happy scene, and yet not mingling in it, Hiram 
asked himself : 


27 



CHRISTMA S E VERGREENS, 

“ Why all this gift exchanging ; all this good-cheer- 
leeping, at the Christmas time ? ” And so overgrown 
was the old man’s heart with weeds, no space was 
there for a Christmas blossom to upspring, ahd 
whisper the answer, “ They give, because on Christ- 
mas day they celebrate God’s unspeakable gift to man, 
the coming of the Light, and as the broken words, 
the disjointed sentences of little children are full of 
meaning to parents’ ears, so these interchanges of 
tokens of kindness are full of meaning to the Father, 
who recognizes that by them His children are saying, 
though it be imperfectly, that they are trying to live 
out the angel’s song, “ Good-will to men, kindness to 
all ! ” 

' When Hiram wearied of the crowded streets, he 
had turned into a broad avenue, and there he found 
something to linger for, too, for sounds of gladness 
rang out from many a brilliantly-lighted home, 
through the half-drawn curtains of which he caught 
glimpses of the happy Christmas-keepers ; and again, 
with the dull sense of being outside of it all, he asked 
himself : 

“Why these family greetings; why the reunion of 
friends ; why the embracing, too, in the Christmas 

28 



NO ROOM IN THE INNT 

joy, those who have no claim of kindred or friend- 
ship ? ” 

And no answer his heart gave, for old Hiram 
Venn had long ago silenced the voice that whispers, 
“Out of love to Christ, love to man is born, and love, 
that is freely received, yearns to freely give;” hence, 
this reaching out to embrace in the Christmas joy, 
not only known, but unknown people ; hence this 
universal “ peace on earth.” 

From the avenue, Hiram passed into a narrow street, 
and so busy was he with his own thoughts he hardly 
observed where he was going, until suddenly his 
steps were arrested by the falling of a broad beam of 
light across his path, and he stood before an open 
door, through which men and women were passing- 
plainly-dressed men and women. Some with weary 
steps, some with pale, poverty-pinched faces. It was 
not such a company as Hiram was wont to join, and 
yet he passed in and made one of them. And the 
very first words he heard on entering that mission 
chapel, contained, as the bud contains the flower, 
the setting of Hiram’s Christmas gift : “ There was 
no room in the Inn.” These were the words — words 
so few they filled but half averse in Luke’s narra- 

29 



CHRIS TM A S E VER GREENS. 

tive; and yet to Hiram Venn they were life-laden. 
All in a minute, memory is so swift of wing, they 
wafted him back to the days of his childhood, and he 
seemed to hear his mother’s voice telling of the night 
when Christ was born,— Christ who loves little chil- 
dren ; and then, quickly as passing scene of pano- 
ramic view, he was a youth, listening to the same 
story : the story of the Christ who came to earth, 
bringing pardon for sin, strength for weakness, help 
for trial, love for sinners ; and Hiram remembered — 
though he was an old man, with hair white as the 
snow, with form bowed with his many years as the 
vine is bent beneath the autumn fruit — how his heart 
had glowed in his youth, with a half resolve to follow 
the guidance of that Saviour ; but, breaking in on 
these wakened memories like the note of an alarm 
bell, loud and clear, rang out in Hiram’s heart, the 
words the preacher uttered : “ No room in the Inn ; 
no room in the Inn.” 

Were they just addressed to him— those words.? 
Did they mean, as entrance had been denied at 
Bethlehem s Inn, so he, Hiram Venn, had shuc the 
Lord of life out from his heart ; shut Him out, and 

barred it, that heart-door, with the words, No room 
30 



“iV(9 ROOM IN THE IN NR 

in the Inn ?” and — for questions would not be silent 
in Hiram’s heart that Christmas eve night, — What 
had crowded the Christ out? With what had he 
filled his heart, that over its portal was written, “No 
room in the Inn? ” 

Ah ! bitterly groaned the old man, as before him, 
in swift array, passed the emptiness of the treasures 
he had garnered, and almost aloud he murmured — 

“ No room in the Inn, no room ; and it is late, 
too late, to open the door now — too late ! ” Thus 
Hiram’s soul was revealed to himself that night ; 
thus he saw that threshold and door were barred by 
sin, heaped upon sin. 

But only men say, “Too late;” and, even as 
Hiram sighed, like the note of far-off music, he 
heard the Voice calling, “ Come to me; ” “ Behold I 
stand at the door and knock ; if any man hear my 
voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and 
will sup with him, and he with Me.” 

And old Hiram — Hiram Venn — the man who all 
his life long had shut his heart’s door against the 
heavenly love, softly as a little child whispers, “ I 
am sorry,” to a tender mother, murmured, “ Lord, 
pardon me, for Christ’s sake; I believe, help Thou 


31 


CHRISTMAS EVERGREENS, 

my unbelief.” And as he thus murmured, the 
closed door of his heart opened wide, and Christ 
came in — in — there Co abide. Came, only for the 
asking. 

Think you not Hiram Venn’s was a blessed Christ- 
mas day ? Think you not his gift — the gift of par- 
don for sin — the most wondrous of all the gifts that 
made glad hearts in the great city on the Christmas 
morning, the morning heralded with ringing bells 
and the singing children? 

It was long ago all this happened. Many and 
many a Christmas has come since, and now we stand 
close to another ; our gifts of love and kindliness are 
well-nigh prepared ; our homes are already hung 
with the Christmas evergreens ; we have made ready 
to celebrate the birthday of our Christ. 

But have we, one and all, as we have thus made 
ready the outward signs of our gladness, made ready 
our hearts too ? 

In Herod’s palace, on the night when Christ was 
born, there were sounds of revelry and mirth ; and 
only a furlong or two off from that palace was Beth- 
lehem s manger; and yet among the merry throng 
that crowded Herod’s hall, there was not one who 
32 



NQ J^OOM IN THE INN! 

saw the Eastern Star arise. Will it be thus with any 
of us.^ Will we enter into the joy and mirth of 
keeping high holiday, and yet, stay outside of the 
sight of the Christmas Star } As we look into our 
own hearts, do we find traced there the words Hiram 
Venn found in his, “ No room in the Inn,”— no room 
for Christ } 

Thank God, if we do thus find ; yet, though the 
hour be the twelfth, there is still time to open the 
door — time to make ready a welcome for the Lord ; 
for only a moment it takes to ask, “ Christ, forgive,” 
only a moment to hear the answer, “ He that cometh 
unto Me, I will in no wise cast out.” 


33 




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III. 


J~T was Christmas eve. All day long, spite the 

falling snow-flakes, the village street of W 

had been thronged with passers — passers, every one 
laden with parcels— parcels, some small, some large, 
some dainty in form, some awkward and clumsy. 

But about the contents of only one our interest is 
to centre, and that, a very unpretending parcel, that 
was left just at nightfall at the door of the brown 
house at the end of the village street, where lived 
Miss Rachel Sprague. 

It was a long, thin package, its contents naught 
but a bit of pasteboard, on which was printed in 
plain letters of sombre hues, dark-greens and shaded 
browns, the Bible words : “ Faith, the evidence of 
things not seen ; ” — underneath was written in a firm 
hand, “ I believe this.” 

It seemed a strange motto, a very simple gift for 
the double purpose of a Christmas and New Year 
greeting, which the pencil lines on the wrapper — 


37 


CHRISTMAS EVERGREENS. 

“With a happy Christmas and glad New Year to 
dear Miss Rachel, and I know it will be,” — indi- 
cated it was to serve. 

Who was Miss Rachel.^ It is a difficult question 
to answer; for the pale, thin little woman, whose 
brow was banded by hair thickly threaded with gray ; 
whose face was marked by lines of pain — the little 
woman whose step was slow, whose sentences were 
broken by a cough — this was not Miss Rachel, though 
thus she was called. No ! Miss Rachel Sprague was 
the little woman whose countenance always wore a 
smile of such peace, one forgot the pain lines there ; 
whose footfall was so low, one forgot its slowness ; 
whose voice was so gentle, one forgot the cough that 
broke in between the words, as one is wont to forget, 
when a wounded bird sings, the bird’s pain, because 
of the sweetness of the song. 

Miss Rachel opened the door herself ; indeed, with 
the exception of her one faithful domestic, she was 
the only occupant of the brown house. Years ago 
it had been different ; then many a light step had 
crossed its threshold at morning, noon, and night ; 
then gay laughter had echoed through the old rooms ; 
then, on a Christmas eve night, Christmas evergreens 
38 



RACHEL SPRAGUE’S EVERGREENS. 

had nodded in the flickering fire-light, from chimney- 
pot and window-hanging ; but that ihen — it was long 
ago — so long ago, remembering it — it seemed as 
though Miss Rachel’s days for Christmas evetgreens 
must be all bygone. Were they ? 

Miss Rachel thought not ; she thought none could 
ever live to be so old, live to learn so much of sorrow, 
to feel so much pain, that out of the year ending 
when Christmas comes, they might not gather a 
sprig, if it be but one, of Christmas evergreens. 

Was she right, think you.^ 

But beside the typical evergreen of a heart attuned 
to the Christmas song, “ Glory to God, peace, good- 
will to man,” Miss Rachel had a veritable sprig of 
green, though it was but a tiny branch of cedar that 
had been trampled on and half crushed. Jim, the 
baker’s boy, had brought it, with a smile so bright. 
Miss Rachel had smiled in reply to his words : 

“It ain’t worth much, ma’am, for ye see I picked 
it up alongside of the church, from a heap of rubbish 
they brushed out arterthe trimming was done.” 

Nevertheless, Miss Rachel found a place in her 
very best china vase for the green branch, spite its 
coming from a rubbish heap. She cared for it, too, 

39 



CHRISl'MA S E VERGREENS. 

just as much, perchance more, as she could have 
done, had Jim brought it fresh from its forest home. 
Why was this ? Was there a life-story hidden in that 
bit of crushed cedar that made it dear to the old 
woman ? For Miss Rachel was old ; her years num- 
bered sixty and more. 

For full five minutes after the coming of the par- 
cel Miss Rachel did not remove its wrapper ; she 
just stood in the cheery glow of the blazing wood 
fire, while she read over and over the lines, “ With a 
glad Christmas, and happy New Year, to dear Miss 
Rachel, and I know it will be.” 

“ How does the lad know that ? ” she presently 
said, and the smile on her face broadened, though 
tears filled her eyes ; tears which fell like rain-drops, 
as laying aside the wrapper she read the motto, and 
the penciled words beneath. 

For the answer to Miss Rachel’s question we must 
turn backward to a dreary November day, a day 
when Miss Rachel had forgotten all about the moan- 
ing wind, the falling leaves, so absorbed was she in 
conversation with her young visitor, Philip Flint, 
who, half impatiently, had asked : 

“ What do you mean. Miss Rachel, by saying obey 

40 



RACHEL SERA CUE'S EVERGREENS. 

Christ’s command, trust Him, and you will know 
what faith is, for you will have it ; you will know 
how to choose between right and wrong ? ” 

Miss Rachel had hesitated before replying, for 
how could she, an old woman, answer that eager 
questioning youth ? — she, whose life was so secluded 
from the busy world, that almost it seemed sheltered 
from temptation ; only seemed^ for temptation, that 
subtle thing, full well Miss Rachel knew, could steal 
its way into the very quietest, most hidden life. 

While she pondered, the verse, ‘‘ Whatsoever He 
saith unto thee, do it,” came to her, and softly she 
repeated the words to the young man, and then she 
told him the thoughts that followed close upon them 
in her mind. And though Miss Rachel was all un- 
learned in what we call theology, though her re- 
ligious reading was bounded by the Bible, and an 
old, much-worn hymn-book, yet her words touched 
Philip Flint, though he was a scholarly young man, 
as never voice of preacher, or page of eloquent writer, 
had done ; and, hearkening to them, he caught, as 
never he had done before, the meaning of that first 
miracle which Jesus did at Cana of Galilee, when 
the command was not the doing of some difficult 

41 



CHRISTMA S E VERGREENS. 

thing, but simply, “fill the water-pots with wa- 
ter.” 

Yes, Philip saw, as he never had done before, how 
obeying Christ’s command, only to become as a little 
child in trust, was all that was needed to lead Him, 
the Lord, to perform the miracle of changing the 
heart of doubt into a heart of faith. 

Yet all Miss Rachel said was : 

“You ask me, Philip, how ‘faith is the evidence 
of things not seen.’ Ah, my lad, how can I tell 
this by words — how explain when temptations come, 
and for a moment make wrong things look like right, 
what it is to hear a voice whispering in the heart, 

‘ right is stronger than wrong, truth than falsehood 
for, Philip,” and Miss Rachel’s voice trembled, “this 
heart-whisper, it does not argue ; it just says, obey 
the right, for you know it, though the way of wrong 
may look right. And when you obey that whisper, 
you will know how ‘ faith is the evidence of things not 
seen.’ ” 

This was all in substance that Miss Rachel said to 
Philip Flint, but it was enough; and it tells you 
why he chose as his Christmas gift for her the words 
that were the index of a new life to him. 

42 



/< 

RACHEL SPRAGUE’S EVERGREENS. 

And you know, too, why, as Miss Rachel read the 
penciled words, “ I believe this,” tears filled her 
eyes, while gladness thrilled her heart ; and do you 
think it strange, — that she recognized this acknowl- 
edgment of Philip’s, that he had been led by her in- 
fluence to trust in Christ, as a Christmas evergreen 
given by her heavenly Father? Do you think it 
strange that she softly said to herself : 

“ Surely just these precious gladnesses, that Christ 
sends, to let us know that He has blessed some feeble 
word of ours, spoken from love to Him, are the true 
Christmas evergreens.” 

Are they ? and if they are, how many of us can 
hang the secret home-place — our hearts — with an- 
chors, stars, and crowns woven of such greens, at 
this Christmas time ? 




IV. 


“SOMETHING MAY COME.” 


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IV. 

"'^rO one ever pulls our door-bell with such a 
sharp jerk as the postman. When he came 
yesterday, just after tea, only one quick motion of 
his hand started the bell at the end of the hall, into 
so rapid a swing, that it sounded ever so long after 
he had gone. 

What did he bring — Well, there were three let- 
ters and a paper. One letter was for father, the 
other two for Mary and me. We girls were watch- 
ing for the postman. You see, at this holiday time, 
one can not help watching, for who knows what may 
come ! 

I wonder whether old and common-sense people 
ever get beyond whispering to themselves at Christ- 
mas, “ Perhaps something may come.” I wonder 
why they always say with their voice, “ No, it is im- 
possible,” and yet look with their eyes, every time 
the bell rings, as though their heart had forgotten al] 
about the ‘Vw,” and were thinking, “ it is possible.” 

47 



CHRIS TMA S E VERGREENS. 

It seems almost like a falsehood, this contrast be- 
tween saying and looking. 

One of the letters was in a huge yellow envelope, 
and the queerest-looking thing, all covered with for- 
eign stamps and strange postmarks. At first we 
could not think who had sent it, and just as people 
always do when they can’t think, kept looking at it 
and wondering, instead of opening and finding out, 
till suddenly it flashed over Mary that it must have 
come from cousin Frank, who is studying abroad. 
Sure enough it was, and he wrote us of how Christ- 
mas was kept in Germany, how even the very poor- 
est have a sprig of green on’ their tables on that day. 
How every child has a gift, the largest cities being 
divided into districts, so that not even the least little 
child is overlooked. 

I like it so much, this making Christmas a glad 
season to all. It is beautiful to know every child is 
joying, because the “ Christ-child has come and 
brought him a gift.” 

After we had ’finished reading his letter, we had a 
long talk about the old customs and associations of 
Christmas, with the “ Christ-child,” ‘‘ Saint Nich- 
olas,” and “Santa Claus.” — Mary always wants to 

48 



SOMETHING MAY COMET 

trace everything back to its beginning, so she 
brought out from father’s study an old book, in 
which we found much about Santa Claus. 

It said — “ d'he superstition originated in the his*- 
tory of an ancient German baker, whose heart was 
so large, and warm, that like Plato’s it contained a 
blessing for every little child, and whose oven was 
so large that it contained once every year, when 
Christmas with snowy feet came singing down to 
earth, sweet, delicious cakes for every child who 
came with smiles and kind wishes to his door. This 
good baker, whose name was Nicholas, was so be- 
loved by all the children far and near, that when he 
died they mourned for him with sore lamentation, 
and the church, hearing the wailing of their voices, 
straightway canonized the good baker, and so he be- 
came the patron saint of little children.” 

Lucy thinks, even to this day, that Santa Claus is 
hid away in the drawer, where mother keeps her 
presents. I wish she would believe as I do, that it 
is the “Christ-child” from whom they come, but I 
can not make her understand. 

Just after we found that extract, father and mother 
came home. They had been down Broadway to- 

49 



CHJ^ISTMAS EVERGREENS. 


gether. Mother’s bag was full, bulging out in queer 
little knotty places, and father carried a great 
package. 

“ Books, I know they are books,” Mary whispered ; 
she loves books so, but as for me—! 

Mother said it was late for us to be up, and after 
good-night kisses, hurried us off to bed. 

It was not long before the house was still ; I sup- 
pose they had all gone to sleep, but I could not, for 
I kept thinking over what we had been talking 
about. 

It was all so confused in my mind. The beauti- 
ful thought of the Christ-child bringing us every- 
thing that makes us happy, and those other strange 
thoughts of Santa Claus seemed all mixed with 
visions of mother's full bag and father’s package. 

By and by I opened my eyes wide and looked to- 
ward the v/indow, through which I could see the sky 
and stars. One little star sent twinkling beams 
right down, as though it were smiling at me ; and 
then it seemed to me as though the star began to 
sing the very sweetest song, ending every verse with 
the question : 

‘‘ What gift hast thou to give the Christ .? ” 

50 


SOMETHING MAY COME,' 


Listening to the words repeated over and over, 
made me ask myself, “ What offering have I to bring 
Him on His birthday ? ’’—And, I could not help it, 
I just hid my face under the bed-clothes and cried, 
because I had nothing to give. I never had let a 
birthday of father’s, mother’s, or the girls’ go by, 
without giving them a gift, and yet I had nothing for 
Him, whom ever since the summer, my heart has 
loved better than father, mother, or Mary, though I 
can only confess it tremblingly yet, because — why — 
because I do so many things to grieve Him. 

When I looked up at the star again, my eyes were 
blinded with tears, but it was twinkling just the same, 
and one little ray of golden light flashed from it right 
into my heart, filling it with a joyous trembling, for 
surely I thought it must be my Christmas gift 
coming down and then I seemed to hear distinct- 
ly a voice saying : 

“ Whatsoever thing thou doest to the least of Mine 
and lowest, that thou doest unto Me.” 

Just then Lucy began to cough, and called me to 
bring her a glass of water. It did seem so cold to 
get out of ray warm bed, for a minute I hesitated, 
vfhen I seemed to hear again the words, uttered not 


51 


CHRIS TMA S E VER GREENS. 


as though they had been spoken long ago, or were 
written in the Bible, but just as though they were 
said to me, “ Inasmuch as ye do the least deed, the 
least homely service, from love to Christ, ye do it 
unto Him.” 

I have not told mother and Mary about it, but 
since we were talking the other day of how at this 
season people always are thinking “ something may 
come,” I thought I would tell you how my Christ- 
mas gift has come. So you see it is just a secret 
between you and me. And yet the promise is full 
enough to supply all who will accept the precious 
gift of service for His sake, with a Christmas 
gift from Christ, and a Christmas offering for 
Christ. 

I “ High above a Star is shining, 

And the Wise Men haste from far ; 

Come, glad hearts, and spirits pining ! 

For you all has risen the Star. 

Let us bring our poor oblations. 

Thanks and love and faith and praise. 

“ Hark ! the heaven of heavens is ringing : 

Christ the Lord to man is born ; 

Are not all our hearts, too, singing. 

Welcome, welcome, Christmas morn? 



^'SOMETHING MAY COMEr 


• Still the Child, all power possessing, 
Smiles as through the ages past, 
And the song of Christmas-blessing 
Sweetly sinks to rest at last.” 


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A PEARL FOR THE NEW YEAR. 







V 


OT many days ago, just between the daylight 



^ and the dark, I held in my hand a picture — 
a quaint little picture — made more quaint and mys- 
tical because seen in the dim light. 

It was of a far-away Eastern shore ; gazing at it, into 
my memory came the words of one who wrote. 
Truly, pictures are the books of the unlearned, and 
the mislearned too.” Can it be, I asked myself, a 
page of thought, perchance of comfort, is waiting to 
be unfolded from this simple print ? And then, (did 
it ever happen so to you ?) while I was looking — 
while I was thinking, I rested my head on the soft 
cushion of the lounge, and fell into a quiet sleep, or 
twilight reverie, whichever you call those times of 
melody-like dreamings, which come to us oftenest in 
the gloaming hour, or toward the dawning, when 
the darkness is fading before the light. Where do 
they meet and kiss, I wonder — the darkness and the 
light 1 


57 



CHRIS TM A S E VER GREENS. 

It seemed in my dream as though I were traveling 
through the strange country I had looked upon in 
the little picture. Weary and foot-sore, I sought 
repose on the “ low-lying shore ” of this unknown 
land. Before me, stretched the broad ocean ; the 
ocean that separated me from home. (Was it seem- 
ing? Was it a dream.? Are we not all travelers 
through a strange land, often weary and foot-sore, 
looking with longing eyes across the dark waters 
that flow between us and our true Home?') 

By my side I thought there lay clusters of sea- 
mosses, rosy mosses, tangled in with faint, shadowy 
brown and bright green. Shells there were, too, of 
curious forms and rainbow hues. Could it be the 
dashing, storm-tossed waves had drifted up these 
fragile, beautiful things .? Why not ! Are not the 
soul’s richest, purest flowers, those that have floated 
up from heart-depths, where rude waves have surged 
and moaned .? Where do they bud oftenest, the pure 
white blossoms of humility, the blue-eyed flowers of 
trust, but from hearts through which storms have 
swept ! And then, I thought, far out on the water, 
I spied a vessel, with wide-spread sails like a white- 
winged sea-bird, approaching the shore; nearer and 
58 



A PEARL FOR THE NEW YEAR. 


nearer it came ; so near, methought I heard the 
voices of the mariners. Some wondrous treasure 
they seemed bringing from their voyaging. Can 
they be, I wondered, seekers of “ the goodly pearls,’^' 
returning home 1 Had they found the one precious 
pearl of great price } 

“ The pearl of great price.” AVhat is it.^ — Christ 
said, “ The kingdom of heaven is like unto a mer- 
chantman seeking goodly pearls, who, when he had 
found one pearl of great price, sold all that he had,, 
and bought it.” Must we go, then, like the mer- 
chantmen voyaging, to find it — the “ pearl of great 
price } ” — “ Behold the kingdom of God is within 
you.” 

Then I seemed to see two, whose authoritative 
tones marked them rulers of the ship’s company, dis- 
embark, and with agile motion spring from rock to 
rock, leaping the deep waterpools that lay between 
the now anchored vessel and the shore. Close by 
my side I thought they came, while they waited the 
approach of one attired as a prince of the land, who, 
attended by a single slave, came toward us. In his 
hands the prince brought money and jewels, calling, 

“ See, what a costly price I pay for your pearls.” 


59 


CHI^ISTMAS EVERGREENS. 

But they shook their heads — the merchantmen — 
while in low voices they answered : 

“ Money, jewels, they can not buy the pearl we 
have found. ‘Without money,’ and ‘without 
price ; ’ he who would win this pearl must seek.” 

(What ! is there a pearl, so precious, that the Lord 
of Life called it the “ pearl of great price ; ” and yet 
the only price we need to bring in return for it, is 
our poverty, our helplessness, and childlike trust in 
Him ! ) 

Then, in my dream, they seemed to vanish from 
my sight — the prince and the merchantmen ; and 
again I was alone on that Eastern shore. The only 
sound that broke the stillness, was the never-ending 
music of the ocean waves rippling on the beach ; and 
methought, I rose to go, but first I stooped for a 
white shell that lay half-hidden in the yellow sand at 
my feet. I held it to my ear, the pure, white shell, 
listening, as children listen, to hear the song of 
the sea, which is ever singing in the ocean shells. 

Seek,” it seemed to sing, “ seek it, the pearl of 
great price, it is the New Year gift for you.” 

Just then my reverie or dream ended. They came 
into the room, bringing lights — (lights of man’s in- 

60 



A PEARL FOR THE NEW YEAR, 

vention ; they did not know an unseen Light was 
shining there for me). 

“ What ! sitting in the dark } ” they asked. 

“ Dark ! No, 1 did not think it dark,” I replied. 

“ You have been asleep,” a child’s voice called. 

(Asleep — had I been asleep.^ Well, if I had — 
where do we go when asleep, but “ into the bosom of 
the Father who giveth sleep.”) 

W aking or sleeping, what better greeting can the 
New Year bring to any of us than this, “ Seek it, the 
pearl of great price, to be found only by those who 
come, just feeling their need of Him, the Lord 
Christ.” 

What shall we remember it for, this New Year? — 
Standing on its threshold, we know not, we only 
know, through all the coming years of our lives, we 
must remember it for something (for, never yet did 
a year pass without leaving some “memory, which is 
a possession ”), perchance, it may be for the dawning 
of a great joy, or the falling of a shadow, dark from 
the valley of shadows. We can not lift the veil that 
hides the coming days, but we can accept the gift 
offered, which can make all days, whether sorrow- 
ladened or joy-crowned, blessed to us. The gift of 

6i 



CHRIS TA/A S E VERGREENS. 


the pearl, “ the stone of the wise, whose true name 
no one knows, but he who has it, and wears it in his 
heart.” 


62 





“ They gave to Thee 

Myrrh, frankincense, and gold ; 
But, Lord, with what shall we 
Present ourselves before Thy Majesty, 

Whom Thou redeemest when we were sold ? 
We’ve nothing but ourselves, and scarce that neither; 
Vile dirt and clay ; 

Yet it is soft, and may 
Impression take. 

Accept it, Lord, and say, this Thou hadst rather; 

Stamp it, and on this sordid metal make 
Thy holy image, and it shall outshine 
The beauty of the golden mine.” 

JEREMY TAYLOR, 1650. 


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